


The Discretion of a Servant

by WhiteSheep



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Drama, Blood and Violence, Consensual Underage Sex, Dimension Travel, Falling In Love, Fantasy World, First Love, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), Isekai, Loss of Virginity, Love Triangles, Loyalty, M/M, Magic-Users, Master & Servant, Multi, Nobility, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, Romance, Service Kink, Service Top, Sexual Experimentation, Summoning, Sweet/Hot, Touch-Starved, a bit of comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteSheep/pseuds/WhiteSheep
Summary: In the Great Elvish Kingdom of Epithymía, there is no greater or better way of showing the value of one´s blood than having the rare ability to summon a Companion: a creature from another world that will guard and help the summoner, if a bond is forged.Alma Tolme knew he was the worst from his class when he stepped forward to the summoning circle to try.And yet he succeeds! Although... what´s this strange creature with round ears he summoned? A human? Are you sure?"Allow me to serve you, my lord," the strange creature says with a smile.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 22
Kudos: 171





	1. Summoning

**Author's Note:**

> i´m working on some requests i got but I started writing this and I wanted to post so
> 
> this will have a bit more of a plot than any of the others stories I already posted but it´ll have smut scenes too, don´t worry  
> ;)

“ _I did it!_ ”

The exclamation echoed through the luxuriously decorated, but empty, bedroom. Enormous windows expand through the length of one wall, heavy red curtains partially tied framing the dark skies and the harsh rain outside, drops ruthlessly slamming against the glass, filling the room with its muffled trembling. A lightning snap into existence at distance, illuminating the grey clouds a second before its brother resounds angrily, but contrary to what would be expected, the young child kneeling in the middle of the room doesn´t seem to mind or care about the storm.

A small circle crudely scrawled with white chalk takes the space right in front of the bed, with a book on the side, its open pages displaying what the unpolished doodles should actually resemble. Nevertheless, white smoke gradually dissipates around the small shape in the center, pink and pathetic and not unlike a plucked chicken, and the child snaps their hands together once, an expression of absolute happiness on their face.

Then they rest their hands on the edge of the circle, leaning slightly forward. “Hey, will you...”

In the distance, another thunder booms and drowns the sound of the glass and wood shattering as the room explodes.

**

“O-Otsuko-kun, please accept this present!” The schoolgirl shrieks, thrusting forward a small, cutely wrapped package while simultaneously bowing.

The boy at the door to the classroom blinks slowly, shaggy black hair and brown eyes and the appearance and attitude of a background generic character. His indifferent expression-- well, not _'indifferent'_ , not when that word, when used to describe someone, implies a sense of superiority from the person, and this is certainly not the case. Detached may be better. Distracted. Although the boy was paying attention at the moment.

It is hard not to when one has a package almost slammed into one´s face, followed by a high-pitched shout.

The entire room freezes, silence reigns when all conversations are interrupted and everyone turns to face the show – but only for a moment. And the nature of a teenager takes precedence when whispers immediately ignite, like the buzz of a furious insect.

“A-Aika-chan, what are you doing!?” a girl with short black hair yells, alarmed.

The other girl- Aika, straightens up suddenly, looking at her friend very confused. “Eh? Emiyo, what-”

“That´s not Otsuko-kun!”

Aika widens her eyes and whips her head towards the door, pony-tail slashing the air. Another shriek, tone completely different from the previous one, rings across the room and the girl jumps back, hugging the package against her chest with a face red of rage. “H-how dare you, Dull-face!”

“Ah, that´s mean,” the young man replies, his voice as dull as the meaning of his nickname despite his words.

“Shut up! How dare you try to steal my present to Otsuko-kun!”

The absurdity of the accusation does not seem to bother or occur to anyone as the people in the room watch with expressions ranging from curiosity to indifference, not unlike the audience of a not particularly interesting movie. The so-called Dull-face teenager opens his mouth as if to answer the allegation, but suddenly a hand unceremoniously slaps him aside. Brute force against such an indifferent body, the outcome is obvious, and the young man stumbles before tripping and falling on his face on the floor like an inelegant pile of clothes.

Nobody lingers in this pathetic image. Shift the focus of the camera. The real protagonist of the scene appeared, after all, and Otsuko Ieda enters the room, wiping his hand on his thigh as if getting rid of dirt or dust while smiling pleasantly. “Ah-ha, sorry, Aika-chan. I woke up late today,” he says, scratching his neck in embarrassment. How charming-looking.

The girl in turn beams back at the boy, sulk forgotten. She bounces back to her original position, offering the present with a bashful expression and the atmosphere hovering between humor and exasperation dissolves into something peaceful, the natural order reestablished after the uncomfortable misunderstanding is resolved. There is even some laughter as the class watches the young teenager couple, completely compatible in every way, living a sweet moment, people feeling a bit foolish. They almost believed that someone was confessing to Dull-face!

Crazy, right?

**

In the distance, the sky is darkening with angry gray clouds and the people walking on the street look up in surprise. The storm signals its start with a roar, followed by a zigzag of light. A pause as mother nature gathers her tools.

And then like a blanket fluttering down on earth, drops start to fall unhesitatingly, scattering the humans like panicking ants.

It sounds like an angry beast, displaying its displeasure.

**

The lights flash like a threat for a moment and it´s possible to hear the protesting creaking of the school around them, the old and small building within the old and small town. The wind is roaring outside, banging relentlessly against the windows and walls and it would certainly be an almost melancholy environment. Or macabre, depending on your choice of genre. But except for the lights, whose inconstancy does not allow them to get used to it, no one in the room looks particularly alarmed.

The teacher from the last class has left to check on the storm´s news ten minutes ago and, responsible students or not, there are not many who would resent an extra break.

A relaxed flow of conversation makes the storm a background noise.

"Do you think they will cancel school today?" Daichi asks, hands interlaced behind his head as he eyes the lights, which have ceased their flickering threat. With his shaved head, what draws the most attention on his face are his thick eyebrows and thin eyes, a combination that is generally not a point of pride or shame. It's a nice face, let's sum up.

The murmur of conversations abates for a moment, attention turning to the representatives of their class. The two, however, seem more interested in each other, sitting with their chairs glued together by the door and their heads hanging closely. With the recent confession still fresh in everyone´s mind, no one is surprised. Furthermore, the scene is cute – if only because seeing two attractive people together tends to please most people – so there is a collective decision to leave them alone.

Attention shifts when the young woman closest to the teacher's desk replies, short black hair moving smoothly when she tilts the head slightly. "Unless the light goes out, I doubt it." Pale chin rests on a hand with meticulously manicured nails.

"You should have more faith, Emiyo-chan," Daichi says with a humorous smile.

"Hm."

Thunder trembles the sky, particularly close and loud, and almost everyone jumped, a scream or two escaping. Wide eyes turn to the window. The storm seems to be getting worse... this storm that nobody foresaw and is making more than one person scratch their heads in amazement and confusion.

"Ah, so nice..."

Emiyo and Daichi are not the only ones that startle and turn to the back of the class with the drawled murmur. The expression of discomfort is collective, but the irritation is concentrated in some.

Dull-face is sprawled on the table, one arm stretched across the surface as he holds his head with the other, cheek pressed against the palm with his mouth slightly open. There is a red bruise in the center of his forehead from when he fell flat on his face earlier this morning, as he did not present the instinct or the reflex to put his hands in front of him to cushion the impact and protect himself. It was pure luck that he fell in prostration, or he would have no nose. Like a cloth puppet. The heavy dark circles look like bruises on the pale skin under that eyes like a dead fish.

An unfair comparison to fishes, in the majority opinion, since a dead fish at least has the use of possibly being food to other creatures. The same cannot be said of that person. If a cannibal were to try, feel sorry for the human-flesh eater. It would probably have a terrible stomachache.

“Be quiet, no one asked your opinion,” Shiho snaps, one of the people who screamed at the thunder. The fact that she got the shortest stick earlier in the day, condemning her to sit on Dull-face's side, is not a point in favor of her mood. She tugs on her left braid, which is much more frayed compared to her twin sister on the girl's right side.

The young man doesn´t react, staring at the window with drool threatening to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. Looking remarkably like a demented creature.

Really, what´s the matter with that guy?

Shiho is not the only one to shiver, inching not so subtly away. There is already considerably more space around that person´s table than between the other chairs, like a prohibited or radioactive zone. It is a testament to how probably every living creature despair sharing space with him that no teacher ever condemned them for messing the pristine desk arrangement.

 _Urgh_.

The sky grows darker and darker outside. The rain intensifies, beating down on the building as if trying to punish it. Or maybe attempting to reach the inside.

The mood shifts, somehow, that weird person´s comment hanging in the air even if he hadn´t been the last to speak. Somebody gulps, and silence descends in the room.

Suddenly, Dull-face closes his mouth – _it´s_ of notice since no one would feel comfortable being close to someone older than an infant drooling. Shiho opens her mouth to spit something snarky since being mean is her way of calming out her nerves—

And then the glass windows shatter.

Blinding lightning and deafening thunder drowns out the students’ screams. Rain and angry wind whip inside, light bulbs exploding in a show of shards and sparks and the classroom is flooded with terror, more than one person being knocked down from their chairs. Chaos and confusion erupt. Panic. People scramble to the door while shouting and shoving, uncaring of who is on the path.

Amidst the pandemonium, laying on the floor after been thrown off his chair by the explosion, the boy named ‘Dull-face’ by his peers blinks at the ceiling, a surprised expression flicking by his face. He slowly sits, glass shards falling from his body and hair to the floor, unnoticed, as the boy stares at the outside world with a curious tilt of his head, as if the ranging storm was but a gentle summer rain.

The last person disappears out of the door. He´s alone – not that he notices or cares.

“Eh...” He scratches his cheek. “I´m not dressed for the occasion.”

Lightning cracks the skies once more.

“Ah, okay.”

And bright light fills the classroom.

**

The flames die suddenly, sinking into the circle painted on the grass that lights up golden one last time. Then the light ceases and leaves behind the simple white color of the paint used, grass intact, at the same time that the storm as suddenly as it appeared fades, the sky above the students opening in a clear blue, revealing the giant planet that disappears by the horizon and the sun. The teacher dissolves the protection barrier with a sigh of relief.

" _I did!_ " The young student in white and gold shouts when the white smoke completely dissolves, a hobgoblin in armor and carrying a huge ax appearing in its place. Greenish skin and black eyes peering out of a silver helmet, bigger and taller than even the tallest knight.

A chorus of cheers raises from some of the academy students, the friends and classmates of the young boy, along with some impressed and awed mumbles.

Although a peculiar spell, summoning itself is extremely simple – but perhaps that is the catch, since many people tend to equate simplicity with _easy_. It is a spell that requires in the first place a volume of mana equivalent in mass and value to what you want to bring into the world, therefore, when used to summon Companions, it naturally reflects the inner ability of the magician involved.

The more powerful the magician is, the higher the caliber of the Summoned Companion. A mage with little mana will never be able to summon anything as complex as a living creature. Although Convocation and Companions are in the general curriculum and are taught to everyone who enters the academy, with all the students being allowed to practice, the sad truth is that not all succeed. If we think about statistics, in reality, the most common result is a complete failure or, in more extreme cases, summoning something dead.

The young man – His Grace Dayki Crelieu, oldest son and heir of Duke Crelieu – steps back with a grin, thin eyes curved in half-moons beneath thick blond eyebrows, his shaved head showing proudly the tattoo of his family crest. It´s an intimidating face, let´s sum up. A proud one, with reason. Among the 14 students of this first-year classroom, 13 have had their chance in the summoning circle and His Grace Dayki was the 3rd to successfully summon something. And the first to successfully summon something of a higher grade than level F, like the fairies the first two people managed, the most common and simple creature possible to conjure.

A hobgoblin is a _level C_ creature.

“C´mon, big guy! You´re mine now,” he says, chin tilted up as he gestures arrogantly at the hobgoblin.

The creature shifts its head, unblinking black eyes staring at its summoner for a moment – the knights brought there to protect the young sons and daughters of high nobility immediately move, standing guard around the students with hands falling on their sword hilts. The cheers die down as the academy students recover from their excitement and remember themselves, remembers what _follows_ a successful summoning, and a tense nervousness takes over the atmosphere.

This is because creatures summoned to become Companions are categorized from F to A, in order of difficulty in being controlled and their intelligence. After all, it is only natural that the more intelligent, the greater the chances of the creature refusing to be Bonded. Even more so considering that the spell more or less hijacks the summoned from where they were with no explanation or chances to escape and in a... _disturbing_ way.

Each creature instinctively knows who summoned it, and it is not uncommon for it to turn against the responsible elf, whether in an outbreak of terror or anger.

That is why the containment barrier is necessary, as well as the presence of at least one veteran teacher capable of containing the possible Companions and a knight to eliminate them if containment is proved impossible. Because even though the creatures brought by students rarely belong to categories higher than E or F, since a person's internal reservoir of mana continuous to grows until they are 18 years old, there are divergent cases.

A hobgoblin, for example. Famous for their strength capable of ripping out entire limbs.

Anything from level C onwards is extraordinary. And dangerous.

The creature finally moves, lowering its head slightly.

The tense air crumbles and awed whispers and gasps fill it instead.

"It bowed...!" someone says, sounding dazzled.

Understand, from such powerful creature, displaying any type of deference is something... _rare_. An elf can only summon something with the same level of power as them, often tending to the stronger side. When it happens, well, it's means that the Summoned recognizes the Summoner as _stronger_.

It is a sign of great potential.

The air crackles with magic for a moment, forming and sealing the Contract. The hobgoblin steps out of the circle as the containing barrier opens around it, following Dayki as the boy turns and saunters towards the other students, cocky and haughty. People flutter around him immediately, chattering excitedly.

“That´s so amazing, Lord Dayki!”

“A Class C Companion! As expected of the heir of Crelieu House.”

“It even bowed its head! I don´t think I ever saw a summoned do that before.”

Professor Adralea interrupts the buzz, her voice echoing loud and powerful with the use of an amplification spell. “Next and last, The Lord Tolme. Please step forward towards the circle.”

As nobles, skill in magic is a must and there is no greater or better way of showing the value of your blood than having the ability to invoke something worthy. The nobler and older the lineage is, the greater is the expectation and the greater the shame otherwise, creating a stigma that will surely follow an elf for the rest of their life, regardless of whether their magic aptitude is truly good or bad. Of course, in this case, the magical ability is abysmal of so terrible – and it's not just one person who thinks that when the students pause their conversations to watch Alma Tolme steps forward, since the young 14-year-old elf was previously standing alone on the other side of the circle.

There are grimaces of displeasure, like someone being forced to look at garbage, and outright mockery behind hands that do not strive to hide their owners' disdain.

Alma has his chin up and his shoulders straight, textbook posture required from the oldest son of a Count. It is a pity, however, that his face hard with tension cannot hide the pallor that almost matches his white smooth hair, reaching his shoulders, and highlighting the black triangles under his eyes with the great contrast. His ears catch the laughter and the mocking looks pinch his skin like needles – and the boy should probably be used to such treatment after so long, but even so, his stomach turns in nausea and his knees shake and threaten to give up under him at any moment as he walks.

Alma stops in front of the circle, trying to hide the way his breathing is already a bit short. In the fatal grip of both hands, there is the large and inelegant staff that the young man has carved himself, and his palms are sweating so much that his fingers almost slip when he rests the magical item on the grass.

“You can start the incantation,” Professor Adralea says, almost indifferently.

If he thinks about it, Alma cannot blame her for her indifference and the way she soon looks down at the parchment in her hand, clearly without the intention of watching him. The big star of the class already finished and it's literally like being forced to watch the most boring part of a play right after the climax. He's the _worst_ in his class, and perhaps the worst in the whole school, and the mockery that follows him didn't appear without merit.

It's only natural to be irritated by the sight of what has disappointed you, right? The eldest son of two powerful mages and with a history of ancestors with distinguished deeds, and yet Alma managed to enter the Goldhorn Academy only through a herculean effort that probably dried out his luck and ability for the rest of his existence. Not enough this incompetence that borders in being supernatural, his hand-and-eye coordination most of the time just doesn't lose to a newborn baby, which is why he is forced to use a staff when most nobles choose something more elegant and smaller.

After so long, after so many times, he should have reached the point where he had already gotten used to the way people only gather around him to see him fail again.

But Alma locks his jaw nonetheless, squeezing his hands even tighter in the hopes to stop them from shaking.

The young elf tries to stop thinking about his father's words and the consequences that failing here will bring, and begins to recite the spell, his voice shaking and faltering in the words slightly. But it is impossible, he can feel the numbness of terror creeping up his back. The circle flicks like a candle flame in the wind, uncertain and weak compared to the magnified fire of His Grace Dayki, and the laughter increases in audacity and volume.

“Why was he even given a chance? It´s just a waste of time,” someone says loudly from the crowd.

Alma falters on his next word as people snicker. Breathing in shakily, he continuous more forcefully between gritted teeth.

The last words ring out.

The light on the circle shines one, then dies.

Someone snorts, “This is just pathetic,” and Alma squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against his staff as the tightly coiled tension inside his stomach crumbles into despair, face flushing in humiliation as his eyes burn. Damn. _Damn_.

_Why can´t I do anythi—_

“Lord Tolme, get out of there!”

Alma snaps his eyes open with a startled shout as someone suddenly slams him against the floor, knocking the air out of his lungs. Heavy arms and cold metal crush around him and the elf barely have time to blink through his blurry vision before loud lighting _explodes_ into the circle and the world drowns in blinding white light and deafening thunder cracks the air in half.

People scream in panic, both knights and students, and the elf boy closes his eyes again and releases his staff, desperately pressing his palms over his ears. Again and again lightning strikes the circle, like drumming at full speed, the rhythm of a furious god. Thunder crackles, crackles. His brain seems to shake inside his skull, his eardrums threaten to tear open. The world quakes and drowns in light. And then, as suddenly as it came, the lightning—

stop.

Alma blinks his eyes open, swallowing air in shallow breaths that he cannot hear, while his vision dances with white dots and tears of pain run down his face. His ears ringing, the elf realizes his legs are numb and soft under him, and that he´s being supported by another person in armor. A knight.

He pushes away, turning to the summoning circle as he blinks desperately fast.

All the hairs on his body seem to stand on end as electricity buzzes in the air, the smell of ozone invading his lungs and spreading over his tongue at each gasp. He feels his body limp and cut off from his total control, swaying uncertain and weak and Alma recognizes the exhaustion weighing down his muscles, recognizes the hunger twisting his stomach. His reservoir of mana is painfully dry and breathing is horrible and the young elf can barely form a coherent thought with the strength of the _hope_ rising through his chest.

The wind gently blows white smoke rising from the circle, revealing a charred floor with no sign of grass and—

Alma stops breathing.

In the center of the invocation circle, a figure dressed in black moves, slowly rising to its knees. With hair as black as the ground it is standing on, the creature raises its head to reveal a white-skinned face without marks except for a reddish abrasion in the middle of the forehead. It glances around with double-lidded, tired-looking eyes of the color of the earth with dark circles underneath, showing a distantly curious expression. It looks like an older teenage boy, like the ones ready to graduate from the Academy.

However, when it turns its head, oddly rounded ears peeks from between black locks.

 _What is_ -, the thought begins, confused, but the creature then turns towards him, heavy-lidded eyes falling over him and a shiver climbs Alma´s back. He can´t help but shuffle back a little, uneasy – never before he saw a summoned like this one, resembling so much an ordinary elf.

It has to be a summoned, right? It appeared after a lightening rain, inside the conjuration circle. It has to be.

Alma gulps as the creature stand up, dusting its pants with a few pats. It moves, walking forward—and steps right over the contention barrier threshold and onto the untouched grass… towards his direction.

The knight beside him immediately tenses, grabbing the hilt of her sword. Alma´s hearing slowly recovers as she shouts her warning, “… -n´t take another step closer!”

The creature stops. It tilts its head, glancing at the swordswoman and her sword briefly, before returning to Alma. A small smile curves the thin lips and without qualms or hesitations, it smoothly gets down on one knee with a hand spread open over the chest, to the young elf´s and everyone else´s absolute _shock_.

Bowing its head low, it speaks in a serious, gentle voice.

“Greetings, my lord. My name is Yuryaku. I will be in your service from now on.”


	2. a master to serve

His lord looks at him with blue eyes like the crystal-clear water of a lake, a beautiful combination with his long white lashes and thin eyebrows, his skin a delicate pale shade. The also white, smooth hair reaches the shoulders, one singular longer lock meandering down from behind his left ear, held by a red bead, before sliding over his shoulder.

With the long pointed ears appearing between the snow-colored strands and the triangular marks under his eyes, his lord looks like the incarnation of an elven prince – if it weren't for his lightly scorched clothes (something that looks like a black and golden military uniform, with a long white cape on top), and skin and hair, slightly messy, smudged with dirt and soot.

He's sitting on the ground, plain grass staining his fingers.

Unacceptable.

"Forgive me the impertinence, my lord," Yuryaku says and ignoring the creature dressed like a tin can and once again barking unpleasantly, he approaches his master in three quick steps. Crouching down beside him, Yuryaku slides one arm under his knees with the other supporting his shoulders and then lifts him in one effortless movement.

His lord startles, squeaking an adorable sound.

“I´ll receive my punishment for my insolence in doing this with my hands bare and still wet from the storm, but my lord´s feet shouldn't touch the floor. So please allow this humble servant to carry you until a proper resting place is available.” Yuryaku bows his head, smiling a little.

His lord´s blush is of a _delightful_ bright red that lets him see the little, faint freckles dotting the pale skin over the nose and across both cheeks, while the way he widens his eyes like plates allow Yuryaku to realize they´re no simply blue, but also intercepted with lines of white and gold. Truly beautiful. “W-wh- what?” he stutters, voice quivering.

Yuryaku lets his eyes curve in half-moons. His cheeks muscles are hurting. How long has it been since he smiled so much? _Ah, well_. “Don´t worry. My lord is light as a feather.”

If it´s possible, the blush grows even darker, and his lord suddenly starts to flail about wildly, feet kicking and hands pushing at his shoulders. “W-wait! Why are you holding me? P-put me down! And who you´re calling ‘m-my lord’!?”

It´s like the struggles of a kitty. Honestly, light as a feather. Yuryaku might have to look into the physiology of young male elves to see if this is normal.

“You, of course. And forgive me, but I cannot do that yet. As I said, your feet shouldn´t-”

His lord squeaks again and his words are interrupted by two pale hands clapping over his mouth. “S-stop saying nonsense!” Even the tips of his pointy ears are crimson.

Yuryaku smiles and nods obediently in silence.

The hands drop, grabbing his uniform as the young elf shifts, feet squirming together. “Yury- Yuraku-…”

“Feel free to call me Yaku, or any nickname you feel more comfortable with. Ah, that reminds me I have yet to ask your name, my lord. My apologies.”

“Y-Yaku. It´s, uhm…” Blue eyes peek up at him, the young elf expression uncertain. “It´s Alma, from the Tolme House.”

Yuryaku smoothly drops on one knee on the floor as his master squeals and grabs his school jacket even tighter. Leaving his legs over the upturned thigh as to not let his feet to reach the grass, the young man grabs one delicate, trembling hand and gently holds it. “It´s the greatest honor, Honorable Lord Alma Tolme, to be allowed to serve you,” he says before softly touching the knuckles with his lips.

Lord Alma widens his eyes as he turns almost dangerously scarlet. His mouth falls slightly open.

 _Cute_.

My, but what dangerous thought to have. Not proper at all. He´ll have to ask his master to add thirty lashes to his punishment later.

“E-excuse me!”

He doesn´t register the ungodly sound as a _voice_ until his master jerks and quickly darts his eyes to look at something over his shoulder, his adorable expression paling to something almost scared. Therefore, Yuryaku does not have a choice but to also turn to gather intelligence and asses how to best exterminate the _bug_ daring to fright his lord.

An old hag stares back at him, dressed in a version of his lord's uniform except entirely black and with red details instead of golden, and carrying an open book against her chest. With yellow hair and fair skin, round glasses hang from the pointed nose and make the green eyes even duller than they already are, even comically wide as they are at the moment.

"Y-you -..." she stammers like a scratched record.

Hmm, how unpleasant.

"Professor Adralea ...?" his lord sounds hesitant and he can´t help but notice the way he tenses, the fingers in his once limp hand squeezing back tightly.

Yuryaku gently returns his lord's hand to its original position, on his chest, and returns his arm under their knees before standing up. The young elf grabs him instinctively, surprised, and he gives him a reassuring smile—before he starts walking towards the large and impressive gates of the huge building rising to the sky a few meters ahead, leaving the sputtering woman behind. In warm colors and with numerous windows dotting the front wall, it looks like a big castle, not of the medieval type with towers and mounted like an agglomerated quartz crystal perched on top of a mountain. But a modern castle: long and even and closing in a semi-circle, a horseshoe, in the middle of immense and well-kept terrain. The vast lawn expanding across to all sides ends in a high wall at least a kilometer away that seems to circle the entire territory.

A place worthy of his lord. However, considering the repeating style of clothing he saw shared among the other elves leads to the conclusion that it is probably not a house in the form of a castle, more likely some kind of academy.

His lord _does_ seem young enough to still be in school, after all.

“Y- Yaku, what are you doing!?” He´s flailing again. “Where are you taking me!?”

Yuryaku shits his grip as to be more comfortable. “Back to your room, my lord. It seems that my summoning caused you to get dreadfully dirty. I´ll prepare a bath for you and get some clean clothes.”

“W-w-what? You- you can´t, my class isn´t over yet!”

“But weren´t you the last one? What else is left to do?”

“How… how did you know that?”

Yuryaku tilts his head slightly to the side, looking back at his master´s confused expression. “Everyone was gathered on the right side, even the ones with summonings with them although the knights were placed evenly to both sides of the circle. I presumed, then, you were all originally on the left and as you were called to the summoning circle, you exited to the other side. But the left side was empty and milord was standing by the summoning circle, therefore I assumed you´re the last one and the class was over. Forgive me if I assumed wrong.”

Staring, milord swallows. “That’s…” he blinks and then darts his eyes away quickly. “You´re right… but I still can´t just—”

“Hold on, Lord Yaku!” the unpleasant voice shrieks from behind, making the young elf widen his eyes.

Yuryaku holds back the urge to click his tongue in annoyance or even turn to teach her some manners, if only because Lord Alma called her ‘professor’. If he´s indeed a student and this place a school, then a wrong move here might reflect on milord’s reputation.

Instead, he ignores her and turns to the young elf on his arms. “Should I stop, my lord?”

Biting his lower lip, he hesitates, but then nods, so Yuryaku defers to his orders with a bow and stops. He half turns towards the approaching elf woman, trotting rather ungainly with the long black cape blowing behind her, a horde of students and knights following closely behind making a distasteful raucous of noise and raising a slight cloud of dust.

The young man frowns at that and shifts as to hide his master behind his body.

“Y-Yaku, put me down.”

“I can´t do that, milord. I´ll accept my punishment for disobeying your orders later.”

The woman stumbles to a stop in front of them, arms wavering for balance. She adjusts her glasses as she raises her head, eyes wide and hair slightly disheveled, as people gradually slow down and stop around her, students and knights with expressions ranging from confusion to irritation. A large troll hovers behind the crowd, the only one looking uninterested. “Lorde Yaku, please wait—”

“Yuryaku,” he interrupts.

“I— what?”

He smiles lightly. “My name is Yuryaku.”

Professor Adralea pauses. She straightens up slowly with an air of slight discomfort, running her free hand over her clothes and adjusting them with the manner of someone who doesn´t know what to do with their hands. She clears her throat, holding the book tighter to her chest. “Very well, Lord Yuryaku. I wanted to apologize for my reaction earlier, I- we´re not expecting to be graced with your presence today or we´d have prepared a more suitable reception. It´s truly an honor.”

Yuryaku hums with a pleasant smile. _What a waste of my time_. "Is that all?"

The woman opens her mouth to reply, when a tall boy with light brown hair tied in a ponytail steps forward, wearing the same uniform as Lord Alma. "Professor, what´s this summoned?" Instead of triangles, he only has a half-moon under his left cheek, in a sun-tanned face. He is vaguely familiar, the way a friend's sibling is familiar… something about the general shape of the face... hmm.

“Yeah, what´s so great about this guy? He just looks like an elf!” a girl with twin braids says rather imperiously, hands on her hips. A bright little ball of light is flying over her shoulder. Her face also seems rather familiar.

Well, Yuryaku doesn´t really care about remembering people´s faces and names most of the time. He brushes off the impressions without a second thought.

The professor hisses angrily. "Foolish girl, do you pay attention to my classes at all!?”

The girl´s mouth falls open in shock, but soon after she closes it, flushing in anger, hands closing at her sides. Before she can burst, however, a knight pipes in from behind, voice awed. "My lady, that´s a human."

Her mouth snaps shut as her eyes turn into plates, and this particular expression reverberates across the remaining students and even a few knights, murmurs of shock bubbling through the crowd. Yuryaku watches on bored and impatient to leave… – until he hears a tiny gasp and looks down to see his master, staring up at him in astonishment. “R… really? You´re a human?” Lord Alma asks in a voice that wavers, not daring to be louder. And the thin, barely polite smile in Yuryaku´s lips grows fond on the corners, a feeling of terrible affection and self-satisfaction completely unbecoming of a servant filling his chest.

Seems like thirty lashes won´t be enough. A hundred, then. Ah, but that´s no good. His lord is so light and tiny, flogging someone a hundred times will probably be tiring for him. Mn, what to do? Perhaps self-flagellation, as old school as it is, will suffice.

Resolving to ask later, the young man bows his head lightly. “Would that make you happier to accept my services, my lord?”

Bottom lip trembling, the elf grabs his shirt tightly, shifting to press his face against Yuryaku´s chest with his eyes squeezed shut.

 _Oh, my_. That´s not good at all. He´ll end up needing a thousand lashes at this rate.

“I-” Alma breathes out, quivering.

And then a boorish, obnoxious bald _boy_ interrupts the lovely moment with a _sneer_. “ _As if_. That´s probably just a walking corpse that that dead-last set up before the class because he knew he wouldn´t be able to summon anything. It´s not like it´d be the first time he cheats, right?”

Lord Alma´s whole body flinches and Yuryaku´s smile is back to not showing any teeth.

“Shall I kill him, my lord?”

The crumbling expression disappears as he snaps his face up, startled. “Eh?”

“If I skin him first, you could have a nice rug to clean your feet-”

“D-don´t say such scary things!” his master yelp.

“ _Oi!_ Don´t ignore me!” the boorish boy yells, stomping his feet before pointing at them. “You, undo this farce right now!”

“His Grace Dayki!” the professor gasps, paling to a ghostly white, “stop this at once! Lord Yuryaku is truly a human, I can tell!”

The elf kid growls. “Bullshit! Are you telling me _that_ guy managed to summon an A-level creature!?”

The older woman finally hesitates while Yuryaku reflects on the many possibilities opening up in front of him as he feels his lord beginning to discreetly tremble. There is a myriad of ways to deal with this unpleasant situation, but Lord Alma showed a negative reaction to his perfectly reasonable proposal, which may suggest that he does not like gore or perhaps it´s a general dislike of violence. Maybe both, maybe none – maybe Lord Alma just didn't like the idea of having a rug made with the skin of that loud and nasty creature, which-- well, yes, Yuryaku can understand how unappealing the suggestion was now that he's reflecting, and the young man scolds himself for having suggested it in the first place – but it would be better not to risk it until he has a clearer sense of how his lord prefers to deal with adverse situations.

Then breaking, cutting, tearing, or ripping off that imbecile's hand still pointed in the direction of Lord Alma, or making the other bugs muttering in agreement swallow their teeth and tongue is out of the question. What a shame. What other options are left?

"He should prove he´s a human then!"

A pause. And then a chorus of approval resonates through the crowd, to the teacher's great panic and Yuryaku's incredible boredom. _How that would even work?_ As far as he knows, humans don´t have anything distinguishable about them that could denounce an individual as part of the species, beyond their appearance. Unless they have some sort of spell for it. Considering Yuryaku was _summoned_ here, it´s not an unreasonable idea.

_Ah, problematic. This is all so annoying._

His lord suddenly leaves the hiding place in his chest to face the crowd, chin up. “Y-you all be quiet! Of course Yaku is a human!” he shouts and it sounds very regal, even with the way his voice wobbles a little in the beginning. “He- we don´t have to prove anything to any of you!”

Oh.

His master is defending him.

Ah, there´s a warm feeling in his chest. Is this what they call ‘feeling touched’? Now he _must_ prove he´s a human, as to not disgrace his so kind lord and sir. He turns to the professor still attempting rather poorly to reign in the rampaging students, lacking a great deal of the authority he remembers seeing in the teachers of his school – considering the titles being thrown around, Yuryaku gathers Lord Alma is not the only person of noble blood here, thus the woman probably doesn´t have the standing to really scold the future lords and ladies of this world.

 _Pathetic_.

“Pardon me, but how would I prove my humanity in a way that would satisfy all?” he asks pleasantly.

The woman pivots to him, eyes wide. “Sir, you don´t have—!”

“He could smash something!” a girl with pink hair in a pony-tail shouts, sounding more excited than annoyed like the rest of her peers. “I read that humans are much stronger and faster because their world´s gravity is so much heavier and their air is filled with poison, so their bodies are much studier!”

Professor Adralea pales to a complete white worryingly fast and she turns to the girl with a hiss. “Lady Aipa, please don´t suggest such dangerous ideas!”

The girl blinks and then blushes, pulling hair pony-tail over her face. “S-sorry, professor.”

The woman sighs shakily, glancing at Yuryaku with a cautious eye. She seems to debate something for a few seconds, as the kids behind her finally quiet down while staring at her with expectant looks. “There´s a… simpler way,” she says at least, her tone somber and her words careful, “to prove you´re a human.”

Yuryaku smiles lightly. Lord Alma looks nervous, looking between him and his professor.

The woman clears her throat and fixes her glasses again. A nervous tick, hm. “The human blood is incredible acid. So much that it was categorized as a chemical weapon since it was first encountered, so if it were to—"

 _Oh, that´s easier_. “Excuse me, Lord Alma,” he says before moving the boy to with one arm, legs fitting in the bend of his elbow before hefting him up. Lord Alma squeaks, hugging his neck on instinct, his face now slightly higher than Yuryaku's pressing tightly against his hair, his eyes squeezed shut – _maybe master doesn´t like heights? Hmm, better keep this in mind._ Yuryaku extends his free arm clenching the fingers of his hand in an abrupt movement, before opening it sideways.

The fresh crescent-shaped cuts in the center of his palm bleed slowly. Droplets drip in an undefined sequence and the young man watches with mild interest as the blades of grass are punctured with almost no resistance, circles forming where the blood has touched sizzling and letting out a tiny strings of steam.

He looks up to see the elf woman taking a step back, arm extended in front of the nearest students. The general expression is one of astonishment, but hers is one of resigned fear.

He smiles. "Is that enough?"

She swallows. "Y-yes, Lord Yuryaku."

“Wonderful. We will take our leave then.” Closing his hand and bringing it back close to his body, he bows smoothly and turns around, keeping his hold on Lord Alma stable in one arm. He makes another small distressed sound when they start to move, firming the almost suffocating tightness in his neck into something that would be almost uncomfortable if it were anyone else – but he can feel soft skin and hair brushing his face, his lord´s imperceptibly stuttering breathing on his ear and Yuryaku can't help but hum gently, satisfied and relaxed at the pressure of his master's body against his own.

_My, I´ll lose the entirety of the skin of my back like this._

“Yaku, p-put me down!”

“I cannot do that, my lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by another work but I won´t tell which one for now to avoid spoiling some details in case someone has read it too
> 
> Hey guys, feel free to visit me in my [tumblr](https://play-of-kids.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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